


Warmth

by BeautifulDelusions



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas hates feelings, Dean's in denial, Fluff, Holding Hands, Implied Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Light Angst, M/M, like you have to squint but it's there, most of the angst is on Castiel's side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1805518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulDelusions/pseuds/BeautifulDelusions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean swears what he feels for Cas is platonic; the twisting feeling in his stomach when the angel is receiving attention from others is just him being protective because Cas doesn't get it, and it doesn't mean anything that he thinks the warmth and pressure of Cas's hand on his grounds him.</p><p>Castiel doesn't like human emotions; they're far more volatile and confusing than he imagined.  He can be angry and disappointed, and he can feel broken and aching inside his chest, but the feel of Dean's hand on his or vice versa replaces all of that with pleasant warmth.  Feelings just don't make sense.</p><p>Or:</p><p>Five times Dean and Cas held hands but didn't quite get why they liked the warmth -- and one time they held hands because they finally just knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in the Supernatural fandom, so I'm a little nervous. This story is not beta-read, so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> I own nothing, except my mini plot things.
> 
> The first two hand-holdings and the last hand-holding are completely made up and are not really canon compliant. The other three are set in episodes of season five, and two of the scenes use dialog from those episodes. Episodes referenced are "The Song Remains the Same" (5.13), "99 Problems" (5.17), and "Point of No Return" (5.18). Canon divergence starts at "Hammer of the Gods" (5.19) because reasons.
> 
> All scenes are limited third person. The first three are Dean's; the last three are Cas's.
> 
> I'm not sure if this is considered Teen or not, but I thought it was better safe than sorry.
> 
> Haha; this was supposed to be short and simple, but twenty-plus pages later... Woops.

**I.  
**

The first time it happened was, unsurprisingly, during a case, and it wasn't very long or intentional.

To be honest, Dean thought Sam was just out for a little payback.  There was no real reasoning behind this.  Yeah, they were having difficulties getting into the guy's house (because he never  _left_ and he wouldn't let them in without a warrant, which they couldn't really _get_ ) and yeah, the guy happened to be hosting a party that evening—a party that said guy may or may not have invited Dean and Cas to attend because he thought they were a couple.  Dean had fought against it all day, until Sam had pointed out they were starting to run out of time, and finally, _finally_ , he had thrown his hands up and bit out, " _Fine_."

And that was how he was currently in said man's packed house with a still inexperienced angel-slash-hunter crowded into his personal space.  "Cas, buddy, a little space?" he muttered, flashing the angel a look over his shoulder.  He was trying to make it through the sea of people (and really, there were a lot more of them than he'd thought there would be) to try and get to the rooms at the back of the house, and he would like to do that without Cas's hips and shoulders running into his every couple of seconds when he was forced to stop walking, thank you very much.

Cas frowned but nodded, allowing Dean the space he'd requested.  And that was precisely how Dean lost him.  Because he'd asked for a little space, and Cas had given it to him, but apparently had given him too much space, because when he glanced over his shoulder to check on him, the angel was nowhere in sight.  "Damn it, Cas."

Looking for Cas wasn't exactly necessary, and honestly, it probably ended up taking more time than it would have saved to have Cas aid him in looking through the rooms.  But given all the different sorts of people here (and the nature of the party) Dean was pretty sure leaving Cas alone would be a bad idea.  He pushed back through people, trying to retrace his steps, and he even stopped a few people, asking if they'd seen a guy running around in a trench coat (which Sam and Dean had reluctantly allowed him to wear).  Eventually, after having to nicely reject some people and almost punch others, he found some blonde male who had seen his "trench coat guy" and motioned in the general direction he'd seen Cas and two others disappear.

Repressing the urge to groan while simultaneously swearing he was going to kill Sam because this had truly been an _awful_ idea, Dean thanked the blonde man and continued his pursuit.  It wasn't long after that he found Cas, standing somewhat stoic in the midst of a group mixed of guys and girls.  Dean couldn't tell what was going on, but several of them seemed drunk, and Cas did not appear amused (but then again he never did) as he answered whatever questions the group of people seemed to be asking him.  When a guy slid behind Cas and slipped an arm around the angel's waist, Dean abruptly decided (with a twist in his stomach that he would vehemently deny) it was time to interfere.  "Cas!" he yelled over the noise, pushing his way through more people.

Cas's head whipped around, his blue eyes settling on Dean, and some of the tension in the angel's shoulders relaxed, which made Dean work a little faster to get to him since _there was still a strange guy's arm wrapped around Cas's waist_.  Said guy must have done something Cas didn't appreciate, because the angel suddenly wasn't looking at Dean anymore and his body went rigid as his blue eyes narrowed.  Dean cursed under his breath and managed to _finally_ emerge from the throng of bodies and beside Cas and the stranger who seemed to be attempting to dance. 

"Hey!" he barked at the strange blonde man, resisting the urge to hurt him.  "You mind finding someone else to bother?"

The blonde snorted and only proceeded to tighten his grip on Cas.  "Mind your own business.  He's fine.  Just a little shy." 

Dean's hand was gripping the blonde's arm tightly before he even realized he'd moved.  "I'm not going to ask nicely again," he growled, tightening his grip until the man gasped from the pain.  "Find someone other than my boyfriend to bother." 

The blonde immediately dropped the arm that wasn't being held by Dean and held up that hand defensively.  "L-look man, I'm sorry!  I didn't know!"  His hazel eyes were wide in fear, and the man swallowed slightly. 

Dean didn't relinquish his grip just yet.  "Apologize to him, not me," he retorted, never once shifting his gaze off the blonde. 

The blonde twisted to look at Cas, a slight whimper in his voice, "I-I'm sorry!  When they brought you over here, I... I thought you were alone!" 

"Dean."  Cas's voice was low and calm, accompanied by a light touch to Dean's shoulder.  It was enough of a reminder for Dean to drop the blonde's arm and shoot him one last scathing look before blindly reaching out and grabbing Cas's hand and proceeding to weave through the crowd and to the other side of the room.  They didn't speak, and Cas's hand twitched slightly in his before curling around his (and Dean blamed the sudden warmth from all the bodies around him). 

There were a few people in the hallway, but it was private enough for Dean to turn around and glare at Cas.  "What the hell was that?" he hissed, gesturing towards the crowd of people with his free hand.

Cas's brows furrowed, and a frown tilted his lips down.  "What do you mean?"

"You just let yourself be dragged along by strangers, Cas!  And you were practically being molested by that one guy!  Last I checked, you're strong enough to deal with that!" Dean answered heatedly. 

Cas tilted his head slightly in the odd way he does when he's reading into Dean's actions and responses, and Dean jerked away from the angel—from the intensity of those blue eyes and the warmth of his hand still curled around Dean's—before he could stop himself.  Those blue eyes flashed with a mixture of emotions, and Cas looked away from him.  "Yes, I am strong enough.  However, when I am feeling overwhelmed, I cannot control the amount of strength I use against someone.  If I had tried to deal with that man, I likely would have broken his arm, if not more."

Dean nodded, licking his lips.  "Yeah, okay, I get it.  Guy would have deserved it, but I get it."  He expelled a breath and motioned to the rest of the hallway.  "Let's get to looking.  We've had enough run-ins with witches that I'm sure you know what to look for."

Cas looked like he wanted to say something, but he hesitated before simply stating, "Yes."

An hour later found them both back at the hotel, witch dealt with, and Dean beaten all to hell from a close call.  The witch had, of course, caught onto them and had just wanted to toy with them first.

Sam made a hissing noise and winced when he saw Dean.  "Looks like the witch entertained himself," he commented idly.

Dean attempted to shoot him a dark look, but it fell short with a wince as the movement put pressure on muscles that preferred to not be moved at that moment.  "Any day now, Cas," he gritted out as he was deposited on the foot of the bed by said angel.

Cas looked at him blankly—an expression that actually spoke volumes—before reaching two fingers out and placing them to Dean's forehead.  All the cuts and bruises (and pain) vanished instantly, replaced with a warm tingle that lingered longer than usual.  "I have a few things I need to tend to.  You know how to contact me," the angel commented, and with a single nod, he disappeared with the sound of fluttering wings.

Sam looked at Dean with raised brows.  "What?" Dean muttered defensively, settling into a more comfortable position on the bed, scooting up so his back rested against the headboard.

Sam released an unamused huff before shaking his head.  "Did something happen at the party?"  When Dean simply looked at him, he added, "Between you and Cas."

Dean furrowed his brows, scoffing, "No."

Holding his hands up, the taller brother replied, "Look, I know I'm no expert, but Cas hauled ass outta here."

"We got separated, and some guy got handsy with him.  If I were him, I'd be purifying my vessel or something," Dean muttered, ignoring the same twist in his stomach he'd felt earlier.

Sam highly doubted that was the case, but he let the subject drop.  
  


* * *

  
**II.**

Dean seriously wondered how he managed to get into some situations.  Really, it was like he was cursed.

"Dean."

Green eyes met blue and held for a moment.  "...well?  What're you waiting for?" Dean finally prompted, shaking his arm, and the angel released a breath through his nose that sounded almost like an annoyed huff.

"I can't."

Dean could feel his anger and panic building, and his voice was low and dangerous when he finally ground out, "What do you mean you can't?"

Cas looked away and down at his wrist, at the silver metal encircling it.  "These are meant for angels, Dean."

Dean threw his right hand (his free hand) up slightly, aborting the movement to bring his palm up and cover his mouth.  He rubbed his hand down his mouth and chin before licking his lips and nodding.  "So—what?  You're useless?"

Cas's shoulders moved in an aborted movement, and he looked up at Dean with his eyes squinted.  "I'm sorry, Dean," he murmured.

Dean sighed and looked away, shaking his head.  "It's not...  It's not your fault, man."

"You are correct.  I suspect Gabriel," Cas replied, and Dean felt his lips twitch into a wry smile.  "But that is not why I was apologizing."

Dean laughed even though it wasn't funny, and he couldn't bring himself to look at Cas as he admitted, "I say shit I don't mean sometimes."  He could feel Cas looking at him, and he could imagine the intensity he would see in those bright blue pools.  "You're not useless, Cas."  He paused and admitted a little more quietly, "Even when you're powerless."

And Dean decided that was when the chick-flick moment needed to stop.  They needed to get out of... wherever the hell they were and get back to Bobby's so they could summon the asshole Archangel who had a sweet tooth and make him take off the handcuffs.  "Any idea where we are?" he questioned, finally daring to look back at Cas.  His gaze met blue eyes, and he had a gut feeling that Cas had been watching him.

The dark-haired angel frowned and looked around.  "We seem to be in a warehouse."

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but only barely—he looked up at the ceiling, instead, and strove for patience.  "I meant city and state, Cas.  Something we can use to get back to Sam."

"Right," Cas answered, and if Dean thought angels could get embarrassed, he would think Cas was.  "None of my powers seem to be working, Dean."

Dean nodded, offering a wry smile.  "Then I guess we're gonna have to do this the normal way."

Fortunately, they were capable of making it out of the warehouse without incident.  Unfortunately, that luck didn't last very long because the moment they emerged, they found themselves on the top of a building, with only one way to continue (without simply jumping off the side of the building):  jumping over rooftops.  Dean didn't like it because it was difficult enough without being chained to someone else; Cas liked it even less because he didn't want Dean falling to his death; and both of them really hated it when, after the first jump (on Dean's count of three), they wound up throwing each other off balance and crashed hard onto the roof of the next building.

And as luck would have it, there was no way down from that building either.  This was looking more and more like an interfering Archangel, though Dean wasn't sure what the point of this was.  "All right, look, one jump and crash landing was bad enough.  We need to try a different way, or I'm gonna be so sore I won't wanna move for weeks," Dean grumbled, absently rubbing his hip.

Cas nodded once and lightly moved his right arm, which caused Dean's left arm to be tugged.  "I believe this is the problem," the angel muttered.

Dean bit back his automatic retort of "you _think_?" because he really did not need Cas getting butthurt over a simple snarky comment like he'd been doing the past weeks.  "Let's try to run and jump.  Maybe it's like, uh, three-legged racing, you know?  We need to be in sync."

"I don't understand that reference, but I do believe I know what you mean," Cas agreed, already starting to walk across the roof.  Dean easily fell into step with him, and they both turned around when they reached the opposite end of the roof.  Hopefully, it'd be enough distance for them to fall in step with each other.

Like the first time they'd jumped, Dean counted to three—and they managed to fall into step with each other rather easily.  They also pushed off the building at the same time, which was more than he could say for their last jump.

But once more they were thrown off balance, and they crash-landed hard enough to scrape Dean's palms.  He bit out a curse in irritation, pushing himself to his feet and practically dragging Cas up with him as he (once again) checked to make sure they could not get off the building.  When it became apparent they couldn't, he crossed back to where they'd landed, muttering angrily beneath his breath.

"Dean—" the angel tried to speak, but he abruptly stopped when said man sent him a glare.  Jaw clenching slightly, Cas looked away and kept silent.

Dean's brain quickly replayed both jumps, and with a slight frown he tested the give on the chain linking both metal cuffs.  Oh.  And then Cas's pointed remark earlier made _so much_ sense.  " _Oh_ ," he commented aloud, his gaze shooting to the angel.  Cas was looking at him again, his head tilted just the tiniest bit.  "Earlier, you..."  Dean couldn't even admit his blunder aloud; it sounded so stupid.  Fighting back the embarrassed blush he could feel blossoming from said blunder, he cleared his throat.  "Nevermind.  Uh, I think we should try the run and jump thing again, but this time..."  The thought was too weird to really put in words, so instead he just reached out with his left hand to grab Cas's right hand, rendering the chain useless.  "Maybe this will help keep us balanced."  When he glanced at Cas, the angel was looking down at their hands with a frown, which only served to make Dean feel self-conscious.

" _Hey_ ," he commented a bit gruffly, and Cas's wide-eyed gaze quickly found his.  "I don't like this any more than you do, so let's see if we can find a fire escape on one of these damned buildings."  Cas nodded but didn't say anything else, which was odd, but Dean ignored it in favor of counting to three.

They stumbled upon landing, but it was ten times better than it had originally been.  Dean laughed softly, triumphantly, and squeezed Cas's hand.  His elation didn't last long because—surprise, surprise—there was no way down.

"Perhaps we should jump to that building, Dean," Cas suddenly suggested.  Dean blinked, looking over at him to see his free hand pointing at a building a little ways away that looked like it _might_ have a fire escape protruding from the side they could see.  He didn't think it would be the only building, but it'd sure as hell be quicker than checking all the buildings.

"Good plan, Cas," Dean answered, flashing him a slight smile before quickly returning to the other side of the roof and repeating his count to three.  This time when they landed, they regained their footing and kept running, and by the time they reached the building with the fire escape, they had a rather fluid system going and didn't even stumble when they landed.  Dean didn't even stop as he quickly made his way to the fire escape, Cas following along easily.  He wasn't sure how they managed to maneuver down the fire escape as quickly and efficiently as they did.  All he knew was he was glad to be down on the ground again.

Until he heard the growling.

Dean spared a glance over his shoulder, and yep—there they were, a pack of mismatched dogs.  " _Shit_ ," he hissed, his grip on Cas's hand tightening involuntarily.  One of the dogs, some sort of Rottweiler and German Shepherd mix, took a step forward, baring its canines and growling low in its throat before barking twice and returning to growling, only encouraging the other dogs to do the same.  Dean pulled on Cas's arm, exclaiming, "Run!"

Cas didn't have to be told twice, and he kept pace with Dean easily, for which Dean was grateful because he knew the adrenaline pumping through him was aiding his quick running.  They were at once lucky and unlucky in that there were so many dogs because it kept them from really gaining ground on them—not that Dean wasn't knocking anything down behind him and Cas in order to stall the dogs just a little bit more, because he was, especially since the town they were in seemed to be completely deserted. 

Dean silently vowed he was going to kill Gabriel if he ever got the chance.

And then suddenly he was falling, the sensation oddly familiar but not, and Dean found himself back in Bobby's house, still handcuffed to Cas.

"Where the hell you been, boy!?" the exclamation was nearly instant, and Dean jumped a little, turning mid-jerk.

Cas thankfully followed the movement, almost as though he'd been anticipating it, and Dean breathed a momentary sigh of relief as his eyes landed on Bobby and Sam before another movement caught his eye.  Anger flared bright and ugly as he snarled, " _You son of a bitch_!"  He didn't make it very far in his efforts to get his hands around the Archangel's neck because Cas stayed rooted to his spot, causing pain to shoot down Dean's arm.

Gabriel widened his eyes innocently, pulling a lollipop from his mouth.  "Whoa, Dean-o, what's the matter?"

"You _know_ what the goddamned matter is!" Dean retorted, his free hand making angry, aborted movements.  "Were the _dogs_ really necessary!?"

Gabriel continued his mock innocence.  "I'm sorry, but I have no clue what you're talking about."

"Gabriel."  Cas's voice was low and angry.  "Quit playing games.  This isn't funny."

The Archangel looked like he was definitely amused, his eyes dropping just slightly for a quick moment before settling back on Cas.  "All right, all right.  You got me."  He snapped his fingers, and Dean quickly ripped his hand from Cas's (that he'd still been holding because he'd been too angry to remember, _not_ because he liked the pressure and the warmth that kept him grounded) and rubbed at his slightly chafed wrist.

Dean wasn't as angry as he originally had been, so he simply settled on glaring at Gabriel instead of trying to choke him.  "What was the point of that, anyway?" he demanded.

Gabriel grinned and rolled the stick of his lollipop between his thumb and forefinger.  "Just to keep you distracted for a little bit," he answered vaguely.  His gaze glanced over to Bobby and then Sam before shifting onto Cas.  "Did you have fun, Cassie?  Learn anything new?"  The tone was taunting, and it obviously meant something to Cas because the angel stiffened and then, with the distinct sound of ruffling feathers, was gone.  "Hm, seems that was a yes.  Well, boys, until next time!"  And just as abruptly, the Archangel was gone.

Dean held up a hand to keep Bobby and Sam from starting in with questions, muttering, "I don't wanna talk about it," as he pushed past them and to the fridge, pulling out a beer.

He was distracted enough trying to process Gabriel's meaning; he didn't even realize that Sam and Bobby had been abnormally quiet.

 

* * *

 

**III.**

The third time it happened was abrupt and confusing and honestly probably didn't even count.

Dean had just pulled a bottle of liquor out of the paper bag and was in the process of opening it while Sam gathered two glasses when Sam suddenly spoke.

"Castiel."

Dean glanced over his shoulder as Sam continued, his voice a little more urgent, "Hey.  Hey, hey.  Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa."

The sight of Cas slumping jarred Dean into action, his memory of the last time he'd seen Cas in this position (slumped against a car and coughing up blood) causing panic to burst in his chest, and he barely heard himself exclaim, "Cas!"  He quickly wrapped his left arm around Cas's right arm, clutching at the trench coat and the muscle beneath it, while his right hand grasped Cas's forearm, pulling it up so Cas's elbow was bent and so that Dean could support him a little better as Cas's body listed more towards Dean.  He faintly thought he heard Sam say something, and it was only the very real presence of Cas that jarred him into speech, seeking to reassure Cas while also reprimanding him.  "You son of a bitch, you made it."  He was aware his voice was a bit more gruff than usual, but he couldn't keep his worry from making itself known.

Cas stumbled a little, causing both Sam and Dean to reposition their footing slightly as Cas muttered, "I... I did?"  The angel looked between both his hands as he spoke, and it became apparent rather quickly that he was more than a little disoriented.  His head moved a little more, his blue eyes finding Dean's green ones, a faint smile on Cas's lips, before his eyes went off-focus, looking at nothing as though he might be dizzy, before turning to look at Sam.  "I'm very surprised," he remarked, and Dean would've smiled if he hadn't been so damn worried.

Cas suddenly swooned, falling backwards, and Dean quickly mumbled, "Whoa, whoa, whoa," while Sam exclaimed, "Whoa! You're okay!"

Dean and Sam glanced at each other, and Sam canted his head back and to the right, suggesting, "Bed?"  Dean started walking towards it in unspoken agreement, shifting his left hand to support Cas's back while his right hand moved under Cas's arm to even out the weight a little.  "Yeah, yeah," Sam breathed out quickly, walking backwards.  They deposited his body mostly on the bed, dropping him onto his back, his knees bent slightly and his feet propped on the floor.

Dean allowed his eyes to quickly assess the angel for any damage while he absently ran a hand down Cas's arm in the guise of adjusting that arm so it wasn't dangling off the side of the bed.  He blindly squeezed Cas's hand, ignoring how it helped to keep him warm and grounded when he was concerned at the state the angel was in.  He stepped back quickly, a little flustered, releasing a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding.

Shifting his gaze from the unconscious angel and onto his younger brother, Dean said, "Well, I could use that drink now."

"Yeah," Sam agreed instantly.  
  


* * *

 

**IV.**

Castiel had never felt human emotions (or if he had, he could not recall such a thing).  In fact, he had never really _wanted_ to feel human emotions.  He had been warned about them, and after watching humans interact, he had reluctantly agreed that the emotions seemed to overwhelm humans and caused conflict and turmoil more than anything else.  If emotions brought so much pain, he simply did not understand the drive humans had to keep on going.

In hindsight he likely chose the worst possible way to cope.  Maybe he had been around Dean Winchester for too long, but it was the only option at the time that had seemed viable.  He could not recall how much alcohol he had ingested before he had started feeling the effects of it, but he had drank until he was past numb.  If he were not inside the vessel, there was no way it would still be functioning.

But Castiel had chosen to drink in his sorrows, his pain—pain he truly wished he were not feeling.  He didn't need more of a reminder that he had been cut off from Heaven; that was painfully evident every day without the addition of the awful emotions warring in his chest and stomach.  Those had subsided, however briefly, as he made his way through an entire liquor store, and the numbness had been a blessing.

As he sat on a bench outside the hotel room, all the previously "eradicated" emotions were making themselves noticed, and there was a throbbing pain in his head that only intensified at the slightest sounds Dean was making as he readied the Impala for their task of killing the Whore of Babylon.  His stomach felt a little like it was lurching, but it was the pain in his head that made him wince and bring a hand up to it, wishing he still had his healing abilities so he could make the pain go away.  He just wanted the pain to stop.  All of the pain.

Castiel shifted his hand to slightly shield his eyes from the glare of the light coming from his left, and three fingers probed at his temple in an effort to massage away the ache.  That was when he heard Dean's voice, sounding like it was deliberately quieter than normal.  "Heads up."  He glanced up and caught the bottle that arced toward him.

Frowning, he looked down at the semi-rectangular bottle, rolling it around in his palms as his eyes searched (somewhat uselessly) for the directions.  Figuring it'd be quicker to ask Dean, he queried, "How many should I take?"  He didn't look up from the bottle; instead, he continued to fight to look at the small script.

"You?" Dean questioned, and Castiel could see him moving in his peripheral vision.  His voice sounded like he was aiming for amusement when he answered, "You should probably just down the whole bottle."

Castiel couldn't bring himself to look at Dean, so he shifted his gaze to the ground above the pill bottle in his hands.  "Thanks."  A part of him wanted to talk to Dean, but Dean didn't like talking about things like this.  Castiel had witnessed the hunter's aversion to such things many times.

"Yeah, don't mention it."  Dean's response was a little gruff, as Castiel had expected.  He truly never understood how someone as... _good_ as Dean could think he was undeserving of anyone's thanks.  "Yeah, I've been there."  The admission surprised Castiel, and he lifted his head, still keeping his gaze on the ground as the turmoil inside him fought to be released.  His lips even parted, the words getting caught in his throat; he wanted to talk to Dean, to find some sort of comfort from him, and that frightened him a little.  Besides, Dean could be talking about hangovers, not—

"I'm a big expert on deadbeat dads, so...  Yeah, I get it.  I know how you feel," Dean finally summed up.

And there it was.  The only opening he was likely to ever get.  Yet it still wasn't enough.  Castiel forced his eyes to stay on the ground, his brow furrowed, and he only allowed himself to ask softly, "How do _you_ manage it?"

There was a few heartbeats of silence, and for the duration of them Castiel regretted asking because, honestly, it wasn't any of his business.  Perhaps he shouldn't have emphasized the "you" part of his question, so that it would have been a more general question, and he could play it off as though he were asking how humans managed it (though he would have simply asked that if that were what he meant).

"On a good day, you get to kill a whore."  The response was sudden and laced with at least a little amusement.

Briefly, the turmoil inside him subsided, and Castiel finally raised his head to look at Dean, attempting to smile.  He was almost certain that the attempt failed because he couldn't feel but a faint change in the way his lips were pressed together.  Dean turned his head towards Castiel, wagging his brows at him once as their gazes met.  Castiel nodded silently and stood, clutching the pill bottle tightly in his left hand, intending to go back in the hotel room so he could down the entire bottle of painkillers as Dean had suggested.  His head seriously felt like it was about to splinter apart.

Castiel wasn't sure why he had chosen to walk instead of "fly," but he didn't regret the decision as Dean came around him to unlock the door.  Dean hadn't spoken words of great comfort, but he also hadn't avoided breaching the subject and hadn't tried to belittle how Castiel was feeling—and that, for some reason, was better than any comforting words.  He wasn't aware of what he was doing until he'd done it: his hand covered Dean's before Dean could unlock the door, and his lips and tongue formed the word, "Dean." 

The hunter looked back at him silently, his green eyes searching Castiel's eyes and face.  Castiel tightened his grip on Dean's hand, his fingertips lightly pressing into Dean's palm.  Dean's brows furrowed slightly, and his voice was confused and concerned as he murmured, "Cas?"

The nickname brought a fleeting smile to Castiel's face, and he felt his thumb lightly trace the skin on the side of Dean's wrist below Dean's thumb.  He didn't understand why the gesture made his stomach stop twisting, the whirlwind of emotions brought to a standstill for just a short moment and replaced with something warm, but he didn't allow it to last.  It was frightening, especially since it wasn't the first time something like this had happened from something this simple with Dean (but then again it was always Dean who managed to throw him so off balance, wasn't it?) and he was sure it wouldn't be the last.

Dean was tense; Castiel could feel it as the muscles in Dean's hand grew taught beneath his palm.  That was why he parted his lips to speak quietly and sincerely, "Thank you, Dean." 

And with a blink he was inside the hotel room, setting the pill bottle on the counter by the sink before grabbing a glass and filling it with water.  His gaze flickered to the bottle of painkillers, and he sorely wished they could help more than just the pain in his head.  
  


* * *

 

**V.**

Anger was one of the few emotions that most angels (except maybe Cupids) could feel.  Well, maybe it was closer to irritation or annoyance than it was to actual anger because Castiel had never felt such an intense desire to hit something or someone as he did when it came to some of the things Dean Winchester attempted to do—but Castiel had never acted on them.  Dean's latest actions, however, had caused him to break.  It wasn't the same sort of anger he was used to; it burned through him and left him aching, especially after he had reigned it in and seen just what he'd done to the man.

As Castiel's eyes rested on the hunter—who had a cut bisecting the left corner of his mouth and a cut along his left cheekbone—his mind still flashed images of blood coating Dean's lips and trickling down his chin, as well as blood trailing down his left cheek.  It only brought back the ache he'd felt when Dean had challenged him to continue his onslaught, egging him on to (Castiel believed) kill him.  It only brought back the observation he'd made the first time he'd spoken to Dean—this man didn't think he deserved to live.  Never had Castiel met anyone as self-deprecating as Dean Winchester.

Castiel thought their plan was a mistake.  They were practically delivering Dean to the angels on a silver platter, but Sam had insisted they would likely need Dean, and Castiel had (against his better judgment) relented, though it wouldn't have mattered if he'd said "no" because Sam would have gotten Dean to the abandoned factory in Van Nuys, California with or without Castiel's assistance.  If he could give the Winchesters a fighting chance—even if it meant possibly committing suicide to do it—then, unfortunately, Castiel would do everything in his power to insure the brothers lived, even if it was likely to end with his worst fears being confirmed.  Which, as he'd said, he didn't want to be alive to witness.

It _would_ be Michael's vessel.

There were days when he was proud to be the angel who had put Dean Winchester back together and fought to get him out of Hell.  He had never laid eyes on a more beautiful soul (though he would admit he was biased)—but it was not bias to know that a soul touched so horribly by torture, one that a demon had tried to taint and maim, should not look so beautiful.  The angels did not condone any actions considered demonic—and giving into Alastair and choosing to torture other souls was definitely demonic—but they also knew what it was like to want to survive, and that trait was instilled so deeply in humans that it wasn't a surprise when one as righteous as Dean Winchester crumbled.  But human nature and the will to survive weren't the only reasons, not to some angels.

No; some angels believed Dean hadn't had a choice in the matter, not truly.  The angels had been tweaking with the Winchesters' lives for... decades.  There was no secret about that.  It was easy to follow the bloodline Michael and Lucifer could use; both Archangels used it to their advantages, poised and waiting for their time.  Sam Winchester had no more than been conceived when Michael had known (or, as some preferred to say, _decided_ ) that Dean and Sam Winchester would be the vessels for the Apocalypse.  Pieces were aligned, and they consistently fell into place.  There were plenty of angels who claimed Dean Winchester had been doomed to torture souls in Hell before he had even turned four years of age.

Castiel didn't know what to believe.  Having been part of Michael's garrison, he wanted to believe more in Michael.  He wanted to believe that no angel could be so callous as to make a choice and force that choice on children, especially an angel he was devoted to following—an angel who had chosen him, Castiel, of all the angels in his garrison, to rescue and rebuild Dean Winchester.  But he knew better than that; he knew that it was possible and even quite probable that Michael had done such a thing.

But he also knew that no matter what, saving Dean was the only thing he was sure had been the right thing to do.

Dean made him angry, disappointed, violent, and frightened; even worse, Dean made him _ache_ for something he shouldn't want.

But Dean also made him happy, proud, caring, and secure; worst of all, Dean made warmth buzz pleasantly through him without even trying.

It was all those things that made his hand tighten around the razor and hold it out to the man in front of him, shifting his gaze up to meet Dean's.

Blue and green locked for a moment; green shifted first. 

Castiel felt the razor gently pulled from his grasp, followed by Dean's gruff voice, "What am I carving?"

"The banishing sigil," Castiel answered, watching the muscles work in Dean's jaw.  The hunter refused to look up at him, and instead stared at the razor he held in his hands.  Castiel finished unbuttoning his white shirt, exposing his chest to Dean.  When the hunter didn't move, Castiel felt a flicker of irritation layer on top of the disappointment that still caused him pain.  "Dean, we need to do this now."

Dean nodded, and his head shifted up and to the left.  He didn't say anything, but the expression on his face was enough for both Castiel and Sam.  Castiel felt a hand briefly clap on his shoulder and squeeze before he heard Sam's footsteps walking away.  Dean inhaled sharply, his gaze flicking to Castiel's.

Anger suddenly flared inside him, and he opened his mouth to call Sam back to do it instead—a thought that should not make his stomach roll in fear and make him ache because he knew he could trust Sam, and he knew it wasn't fair to ask this of Dean, but he truly needed Dean to do this—but all of that was blanketed in a warm buzz over his skin and through his body when calloused fingers gripped his.  Castiel felt his breath hitch, a sensation he was unfamiliar with and that was slightly uncomfortable—because he didn't _need_ to breathe so why had he been doing it in the first place?

Dean's hand squeezed his; Castiel squeezed back; and then the pressure was gone, shifting up to his shoulder instead, and the sweet warmth quickly vanished as the razor sank deep into his skin.  
  


* * *

 

**\+ I**

His second death was no less painful than the first one; if anything it was worse.  He'd been exhausted and banged up from using the banishing sigil carved in his chest on the angels—which he was still surprised he'd lived through.  Things were still a little hazy, actually; he vaguely remembered Gabriel reaching out to him, asking for help.  He had no clue why he'd actually responded, or used any energy flying to the Archangel's aid.

And then Castiel had become bait for Lucifer to be distracted.  Whether or not Gabriel mentioned the extremely imminent death was unclear; Lucifer had turned around so quickly and stabbed Castiel with his own angel blade.  Castiel hadn't known if his sacrifice was even worth it, the excruciating pain blocking everything out as he crumpled to the ground.

The memory made up his mind—the second time he'd died had been worse.  His body had been so weak; there wasn't any fight left in him to tolerate any pain, and being killed by a blade was worse than instantly exploding.

Castiel was reincarnated in his vessel at Bobby Singer's house.  His senses flared out a little, and he was awed and frightened by how much he could feel.  He hadn't felt this strong in a long time.  Hell, he felt stronger than he ever had.  He sent a brief, reverent thought of thanks, a smile softening the edges of his mouth.  His Father had done this; he was sure of it.

The sound of someone shifting around caught his attention, and he looked down at the man on the inflatable mattress on the floor.  The fond feeling he'd always had around the hunter flared inside him, devoid of the disappointment and anger he'd harbored days (or was it weeks?) prior.  Instead a different weight settled on his chest, and it took him a moment to realize it was guilt.  He'd been wrong not to have faith in Dean Winchester—he'd never really let him down before.

Castiel wasn't sure how it happened, but he found himself kneeling on the floor, unable to stop himself from reaching out and taking Dean's hand in his.  He felt relieved when that same warmth washed over and through him.  Being revived with his contact with Heaven re-established...  He had thought this feeling would be lost to him.

"Cas?"  His nickname was voiced in sleep-coated confusion and hope.

His eyes snapped to Dean's, and he dropped the hunter's hand, his mouth opening as he rushed to think of a way to explain what he was doing.

Any possible excuse Castiel could come up with died on his lips as Dean struggled into an upright position and pulled Castiel into a tight hug.  The angel's mind went blank, and his body went rigid.  Dean didn't release him, though, and slowly he allowed himself to sink against Dean, to relax into the warmth he provided.  He closed his eyes, his chin resting on Dean's shoulder and his arms wrapping around Dean loosely.

"Are—" Dean's voice was a harsh whisper, slightly broken, and Castiel wanted to pull back and look at his face to try and discern what was going through the hunter's mind, but Dean's grip made that impossible to do without hurting him.  "You're alive," Dean whispered.

Castiel was surprised by his own chuckle.  "Hello, Dean."  He carefully tried to extract himself from the hunter.  He was both relieved and upset when Dean allowed him to pull away from him.  "Perhaps we should talk at the kitchen table," he suggested.  He missed the feel of Dean's arms around him; maybe he shouldn't have relaxed into the hug.  Being held by Dean had fed a craving he hadn't known he had, and it made him want to run in the opposite direction.  He quickly pushed himself to his feet in order to keep from pressing back into Dean's personal space and demanding he hold him again.

Dean followed his lead and stood, a tension suddenly in his shoulders that hadn't been there a moment prior.  He walked into the kitchen and went over to the table, pulling out two chairs and falling into one.

Castiel sat in the other, and for a long moment they simply sat there in silence.  Castiel watched as Dean looked down at the table, his thumbnail absently scratching at something on the tabletop.  He somehow always found himself watching Dean; there was just something fascinating about the hunter.  His gaze roved over Dean's face, tracing the path of freckles over his nose and cheekbones and around his eyes.  Dean's lashes fluttered as he thought, and Castiel briefly thought about how pretty his eyelashes were before being thankful Dean couldn't read his thoughts because the hunter would definitely be angry if he knew Castiel called anything "pretty" when it was in reference to Dean.  Dean's head lifted, allowing Castiel to see the bursts of different shades of green in the man's eyes.

"Gabriel said Lucifer killed you," Dean finally spoke softly, his voice a little gruff.

There were so many questions Castiel should probably ask, but he didn't.  "He did.  I was brought back to life.  I think I'm stronger," he answered, his gaze never leaving Dean.  A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he added without really thinking, "So I can heal Bobby."

Dean's lips quirked into a smile that wasn't necessarily happy.  Castiel couldn't keep from tilting his head in curiosity.  "No need," Dean muttered, sounding a little bitter, and for a moment Castiel felt the world tip on its axis.  " _Shit_ , Cas, hey—hey! Bobby's fine."  He heard the words, but they didn't really register.  He felt warmth against his face, and his head was suddenly tilted back, making him blink so that Dean swam into focus.  "Listen to me—Bobby's _fine_.  Gabriel healed him.  He's been hanging around a lot, acting like he's our angel, and it's just been bothering me."

Castiel's brows furrowed at Dean's words, and said man apparently seemed like he knew what he'd said because he suddenly released Castiel's face and took a step away, a hand coming up to rub at his neck.  It was only when Dean flushed that he noticed the hunter was flustered.  Dean's gaze flicked to his and then away, and he heard Dean curse softly under his breath.  The warm buzz Castiel was quickly growing accustomed to settled over him, and he found himself fighting back a smile.  "I wasn't aware you three had an angel," he managed to deadpan.

Dean's gaze shot to Castiel's, and something must have given him away because Dean frowned and growled, "Don't fuck with me, Cas.  These last two weeks..."  Castiel narrowed his eyes as Dean stopped mid-sentence, seeming to flounder for words.  "Damn, Cas, I thought you were _dead_ ," Dean finally hissed, his voice raw with emotion.

Castiel had his fingers laced with Dean's before he realized what he was doing.  He squeezed lightly, reassuringly, as he answered quietly, "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean made a strangled, irritated noise.  "Don't apologize."

His thumb lightly rubbed circles into the back of Dean's hand, and he lightly tugged, feeling warmth blossom in his chest when Dean willingly stepped closer.  "I'm not dead," Castiel murmured, his gaze on Dean's, imploring for him to get the message.  "I'm not going anywhere, either."

Dean sucked in a sharp breath and nodded, his gaze shifting down slightly before looking back up.  "Yeah," he whispered.

Castiel frowned and stood, absently squeezing Dean's hand in order to feel the pressure of Dean's fingers between his.  "You're tired."

"M'fine, Cas," Dean mumbled, his gaze shifting down to their laced fingers.  Castiel allowed him to pull their hands up, but he went rigid when Dean's lips ghosted over the back of his hand.  Green shifted to meet blue, and the next whisper tickled Castiel's knuckles.  "Is this okay?"

Castiel tilted his head; he thought it was obvious just how "okay" this was. 

The voice that spoke next was not his, nor was it Dean's.  "You have so much to learn, Dean-o," an exasperated Gabriel remarked.  "Unlike humans, angels don't seek physical contact.  If we initiate it or allow it for more than a few seconds, it's because we enjoy it."

Dean jumped, turning to glare at Gabriel, and Castiel half expected Dean to jerk away from him like he usually did.  But Dean didn't move except to turn back to him, his eyes slightly wide.  "Is that true?"

"Yes," Castiel answered without hesitation, frowning.  "I thought you knew that."

Dean didn't respond aloud, and he looked like he was considering something; a few seconds later, warm lips were pressed against Castiel's.  The contact didn't last very long, because _of course_ they had an audience for their first kiss, and _of course_ their audience couldn't keep quiet.

"Castiel, you're okay!" Sam's voice suddenly exclaimed, and Dean pulled a step away with a quiet grunt of irritation.

"Yes, Sam, I am," Castiel answered amiably, smiling at the younger Winchester.

Sam looked like he was ready to launch into questions or a story one, but Gabriel cut him off by reaching out to grab his arm and starting to basically wrestle him out of the kitchen.  "We'll leave you two lovebirds be.  Cassie, teach Dean-o a few things about angels, eh?" he called over his shoulder suggestively, winking.

Castiel couldn't really find it in himself to be angry with the interruptions.  Dean didn't look too happy about them, and Castiel smiled faintly before leaning up to brush his lips over Dean's experimentally.  It wasn't unpleasant, but he wasn't entirely sure of his reaction to it, so he settled his lips lightly against Dean's once more.  Dean didn't pull away and instead asked against Castiel's lips, "Do you trust me?"

Castiel blinked before replying, "Of course."

At first it didn't seem like Dean was doing anything, but then he felt the brush of fingers against the back of his neck before they twisted softly into the hair above the nape.  He felt Dean's lips press more firmly against his, tentative and exploring.  Castiel wasn't sure if Dean was doing it for him, for himself, or for them both.  He lightly squeezed the hand still locked with his, and he felt Dean smile against his lips before Dean tangled his free hand further in his hair.  Castiel felt his own free hand come up to fist in Dean's shirt as Dean coaxed him to move his lips against Dean's in chaste, open-mouthed kisses.  Castiel had almost started to pull away when Dean teasingly started licking and nibbling at his lips.  He wasn't sure when he'd started doing the breathing thing again, but his breaths were coming in harsh pants, and he could feel a delicious heat curling low in his abdomen.  Dean lightly scratched at Castiel's scalp before finally licking his way into Castiel's mouth.

The groan that sounded deep in Castiel's throat surprised them both, and Dean emitted his own moan before he pulled back and looked at the angel, his breath coming in pants as well.  Dean puffed a soft laugh before pressing his lips against Castiel's lightly once more.  "I think that's enough for you for one night," the hunter teased, voice husky.

Castiel reached up to brush the back of his fingers against Dean's cheek.  "You need to sleep," he murmured, his voice sounding rough to his own ears.  An emotion flared in Dean's eyes before he could school his expression, and Castiel brushed a kiss against Dean's jaw.  "If you want, I'll watch over you."

Dean snorted, stepping back and leading them out of the kitchen and back into the living room.  Castiel noted that Dean hadn't told him he couldn't, and he ducked his head to hide his smile.  It took them a few minutes to get situated on the air mattress, considering they both refused to release each other's hands, but they finally managed to get comfortable, laying on their sides facing each other.  Castiel watched Dean fight sleep and lose, his lashes fanning out against his cheeks.  He watched Dean's lips quirk into a smile as he slept.  He watched Dean's shallow, even breaths, and listened to the soft puffs of them.  He watched the sun stream in through the windows, bathing Dean's face in a warm glow that made his chest ache.

And when Dean's eyes fluttered open later that morning, Castiel was still watching him.  "Hello, Dean," he murmured.

Dean simply smiled and squeezed the hand that still held his.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This really did not go the way I thought it would. Oh, well; shit happens. (And I really hate writing endings. I need to work on those.)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Any feedback will be greatly appreciated!


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